


and i'd like to get to know you

by ghermez



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Family Shenanigans, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, M/M, Online Dating, Slow Burn, Teacher Kita Shinsuke, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:09:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26735671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghermez/pseuds/ghermez
Summary: Atsumu is getting married and his brother will not be attending his wedding alone. As his right as the meddlesome, lovable brother dictates, Atsumu sets up Osamu with a cute school teacher by the name of Kita Shinsuke. Thankfully, grandmother Kita is a helpful player in this game of arranged destiny.
Relationships: Kita Shinsuke/Miya Osamu
Comments: 20
Kudos: 46





	and i'd like to get to know you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Mita?” Atsumu muses and for a second, Osamu can breathe, but, of course, he isn’t finished. “No, wait...” Atsumu continues. Then, in a voice far too bright for having just decimated Osamu’s chances of catching a wink of sleep, he says, “Kita. Kita Shinsuke.”

“Is this necessary?” Osamu gives Atsumu a look that drips disdain and annoyance and yet Atsumu is perfectly fine with ignoring it and continuing to build Osamu an online dating profile.

“You’re not coming to my wedding alone, okay?”

Osamu sighs. He appreciates his brother’s concern over his perpetual state of bachelorhood but there’s simply no way Osamu will find a date in four measly weeks but Atsumu sure is tenacious.

“Oh, hey, will you look at that? Someone is interested already!” Atsumu sounds surprised despite being the one creating said profile. He didn’t even let Osamu choose the profile picture. Something about Osamu’s inability to take selfies where he isn’t wearing the Onigiri Miya T-shirt. That’s just not true. He has other clothes… Like his gray T-shirt. But that’s irrelevant. He puts down the glass he’s been drying, straightens up, and peers over Atsumu’s shoulder. The interface alone confuses him with its over reliance on pink and frills. Doesn’t using this website scream desperate?

“Lemme see,” he says anyway, shouldering Atsumu out of the way. But he’s either underestimating Atsumu’s shoulders or overestimating his, because Atsumu barely budges. “God, why are you immovable? Get lost, ‘Tsumu.”

“No way! This is fun. Lemme see. He’s twenty-eight, oh that’s a year older, and he enjoys gardening. Wow. Sounds like a catch, ‘Samu.”

“A gardener? Really? Couldn’t you have found someone weirder? He probably grows his own weed and calls that gardening…” Osamu trails off, getting up to pour himself some tea.

Atsumu’s silence on the matter is strange enough, and Osamu really doesn’t need his brother meddling with his love life (non-existing as it is, it is far too delicate for Atsumu’s indelicate ways.)

“No way. He even likes that old movie you like.”

“Breakfast at Tiffany’s?” Osamu’s head peeks out from behind the kitchen cabinet where he’s rummaging for his favorite mug. That _is_ a rare occurrence. Osamu always finds himself in need for people who appreciate old Western movies.

“And he likes ducks. Isn’t that adorable? He’s kinda cute, too,” Atsumu continues.

Osamu’s interest is piqued—he can’t help it, a grown man who likes ducks sounds _adorable_ —but he says, “You realize your fiancé probably doesn’t appreciate you admiring other men’s _ducks_ , right?”

Atsumu laughs. “The last thing Bokkun cares about is other guys’ ducks. He’s confident in his own.” There is far too much fondness in that sentence despite the topic at hand, and Osamu wonders just how his brother manages to surprise him to this day.

“Say, why not go out on one date with this guy? Just try it out. You don’t have to fall in love.”

Osamu snorts. As if that is even a possibility at this point. He’s so starved for affection he could fall in love with a grocer’s cashier bidding him good day. Just last week, he bumped into someone in the Farmer’s Market and spent the whole day touching the three inches of his shoulders where that man’s hand had rested while he apologized. Osamu can still remember the breadth of those shoulders, the slight tint in his hair, the way his eyes shined. He also remembers the dark-haired man next to the man with the kind eyes, with weird symmetrical moles above his right eye, because those coal eyes were glaring daggers into Osamu.

But Atsumu doesn’t seem to be picking up on Osamu’s flippancy. He closes the lid of the laptop and eyes Osamu, eyes far too serious for Osamu’s liking. Where does this grown man come from? Does love change a person this drastically?

Then again, Atsumu has been on the path towards greatness for as long as Osamu has known it. It shouldn’t shock him that the man sitting at his kitchen counter is his brother; Atsumu has earned Osamu’s respect a long time ago.

“Just—I want to see you happy, ‘Samu.”

Then there’s that argument. The same ole conundrum being Osamu’s happiness. Or lack of. “I am happy,” he grits. Atsumu takes a deep breath, as if preparing to argue.

But it’s almost midnight and he’s been on his feet before the sun had even kissed the day good morning, so he nips his frustration at the bud.

Osamu sighs. “Fine. One date.”

* * *

“Say, Shin, are you busy two days from Monday?”

Shinsuke looks up from where he’s concentrating on the shogi board. His grandmother sits across him, face as serene as ever, except for the small smile curling the sides of her lips. “Not at all. Do you need me to drive you anywhere, Grandma?”

Her smile grows wider. It’s lovely except she’s been pretty distracted, tapping slowly on her cell phone. That doesn’t make her any less an extraordinary opponent. “There’s a place I wish to visit in Osaka so clear your schedule, ‘kay?” she asks, humming distractedly as she moves a piece.

Shinsuke blinks. She has won their game with a move. He sighs fondly and puts his hands on his folded knees. He smiles and nods. “All right. Only if you promise to show me that move you did just now.”

She lets out a soft laugh, which isn’t more than a huff, really, and proceeds to both teach and beat him in shogi.

* * *

It’s an especially busy Wednesday afternoon. Osamu feels as if he hasn’t had a moment to sit down in eight solid hours. His thighs are past the point of feeling the strain. His whole body creaks. He’s made of pins and needles by now. But he doesn’t complain and makes sure that every last order is fulfilled and preparations for deliveries are running smoothly before the lunchtime rush dies down.

The kitchen bustles with well-natured noise from the five employees he’s hired, and he stops for a second to marvel at how far the business has come since he’d opened on one sunny day. It seems like such a long time ago.

The bell over the front door—a gift from Bokuto—tinkles, and Osamu has to physically stop himself from rushing to the front counter; the part-timer will get that. He doesn’t need to have a hand in everything. He can focus on his current task of hauling boxes.

Still.

He can’t help it. It’s his business. His life.

So, he puts down the heavy box in his arms, heads to his private bathroom to wash his hands, dry them thoroughly, then walks out. Only to stop in his tracks. By the counter stands an elderly woman, probably in her early-to-mid-sixties, dressed in calming hues of cream and gold, with a smile on her face that makes her creased cheeks look plump and lovely. And next to her is the loveliest man upon whom Osamu’s eyes have ever lain.

Dressed in a pair of plain dark jeans and a dark green T-shirt that looks softer with every passing second in which Osamu stood staring, this man shouldn’t be this arresting.

And yet, with small, shining eyes, and a head of starlight dipped in black, the man plucks every thought out of Osamu’s mind and scatters them in the wind.

The man is addressing Natsu though, unaware of how Osamu’s axis has gone off track. He’s probably asking her something about the menu since he’s glancing at the board over Natsu’s head, but Osamu desperately needs to hear this.

Osamu steps closer. “Welcome to Onigiri Miya. Natsu-chan, let me take care of this.”

Natsu, ever the professional, gives him a bright, “Yes, boss!” and moves on to help the customers standing to the side, perusing the window of ready-made, takeout onigiri boxes.

Despite the smooth transition between them, the man’s smile grows a little strained. Osamu hasn’t meant to let his eyes linger, but he can’t help but notice the smallest of changes in this man’s expression.

And it makes Osamu frown.

“I apologize for the interruption. May I take your order?”

The lady’s smile brightens somehow, and Osamu is reminded of his own grandmother, his heart pinching uncomfortably in his chest at the familiarity in her voice. “What would you recommend, young man?” she asks him, and it’s as if someone has given Osamu the pass to talk about onigiri all he likes. His mouth opens and it… doesn’t stop.

He’s aware of himself overdoing it, explaining every type with excruciating detail, and it should bore them, really, it should, but the kind lady with the smiling eyes listens and hums at every suggestion, while The Loveliest Man looks at everything but Osamu.

It’s fine, really, Osamu doesn’t need this man’s eyes on him; he’s terrified of it, actually, if he dares listen to his heartbeat.

After a prolonged silence, the woman says, “Well, now everything looks _too_ lovely. What appeals to _you_ , Shin?”

 _Shin._ It’s surely a nickname but a name nonetheless. Osamu wants to ask for the character that make it up, write it down somewhere, then stash the paper in the pocket near his heart.

Osamu looks at Shin, but the man in mention gives Osamu a blank stare and says, “We’ll have a box of half a dozen mixed onigiri, please.”

The transaction is quickly completed, and Osamu feels like an air balloon that’s been poked mid-air.

“Hey, boss, you good here?” Natsu asks.

“I toldja to call me Miya-san,” he murmurs but his heart isn’t in it. Natsu smiles patiently and Osamu has to shake himself to get moving. He is reminded just then that he does need to sit down, so that’s totally why he opts for a seat at the counter, three chairs away from Shin and, who Osamu suspects to be, his grandmother.

It startles Osamu a little when someone asks him, “So, are you the owner of the shop?”

It’s her, _Shin_ _’s grandmother_ , and he feels a flush rising in his cheeks because Shin is looking at him at last. (Then he’s looking away, but Osamu will take that fleeting glance.)

“Yes, ma’am. I am the owner of Onigiri Miya.” He stands up, ignoring his protesting knees, and offers her a deep bow and his business card. “I am pleased to receive your patronage,” he adds, but feels like he’s trying too hard and shuts his mouth.

She doesn’t seem bothered by his stiffness and simply gives him another, “Hmm,” and hands the card to Shin, who looks like he wants to throw it in the closest trash can, but that look dissipates when his grandmother glances at Shin. He now looks serene and tucks it into his front jean pocket. Osamu swallows thickly. That entire exchange perturbed him but he can’t stop looking at the stupid business card and how desperately he wants to be a piece of paper in his next life.

“How lovely, it’s a very nice place.”

Osamu’s cheeks are definitely warmer now, and instinct forces him to tuck his chin into his chest and thank her for her kindness. He peers up from under the brim of his cap to look at Shin but he’s looking down at his grandma instead.

Natsu shows up then and says, “A medium box of assorted onigiri for Kita Shinsuke?”

Shin—No, _Kita Shinsuke,_ the name drops like a rock in Osamu’s lake, sending circles into his depths _—_ stands up and takes the order, giving Natsu a bow. Osamu notices the elegant bow of his back and the way his shirt tightens to reveal corded muscle underneath, and his throat dries up a little more. Then he’s turning and Osamu catches a glimpse of glimmering eyes looking his way before Kita says, “We should get going, Obaachan.” Then he picks up the order from the counter, and Osamu perks up at having his suspicions confirmed. They _are_ grandmother and grandchild. Kita Shinsuke, huh?

Osamu wonders how Kita’s name might feel as it rolled off of his tongue. It might taste like molasses, thick and overpowering, but Osamu wants to open his mouth and allow it entry to every delicate and sensitive part of him.

He hopes, with bated breath and a quickening pulse, for Kita and his grandmother to pause and say goodbye, but it’s only her who tilts her head in his direction.

* * *

“So, have you met him?” Atsumu asks that night, his happy getting-married glow turning his skin a healthy tan. Osamu can hear his future-brother-in-law, Bokuto, whispering, “Is that Osamu? My favorite Miya?”

“Hey!” Atsumu interjects.

“Yes, Bokuto-san, it’s me,” Osamu answers.

“Don’t mind Bokkun, he’s testing my patience tonight. So, did you?”

“Who?” Osamu asks around a yawn. He can’t sleep—won’t—until he completes all the chopping for tomorrow.

“Your love match. He was supposed to come to the shop today.”

Osamu’s stomach drops. His hands don’t stop lining up cucumbers for chopping, his body far too comfortable even as Osamu’s world feels like it’s being split down the middle.

Then, he asks the question he fears the most, “What’s his name?”

“Mita?” Atsumu muses and for a second, Osamu can breathe, but, of course, he isn’t finished. “No, wait...” Atsumu continues. Then, in a voice far too bright for having just decimated Osamu’s chances of catching a wink of sleep, he says, “Kita. Kita Shinsuke.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [evil emoji] 
> 
> welcome to my super indulgent project, where i am going to make osamu CRY. or not. or yes. who knows. leave me lots of comments, 'kay?

**Author's Note:**

> for more osakita brain rot, i'm on twitter as [@kuroosauce](https://twitter.com/kuroosauce)


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